Voir
by akajanedoe
Summary: Harry doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no' when it comes to Fenne's personal life. She's a disowned pureblood for becoming a muggle psychologist and is content with her books and quiet judgements: she doesn't go looking for trouble. Now Harry wants her to follow him back to Tom Riddle's time and somehow resist profiling the most famous psychopath of magic history.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a recent brainchild of mine, and I'm not even sure if I'm going to seriously write this story. This is just an idea that's been kicking around in my head for a while.**

**Happy reading. As always, reviews are highly appreciated.**

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><p>"Mr. Dumbledore, I highly doubt that my presence at this hour is of utmost importance regarding Mr. Snape's current mission-"<br>The wisened headmaster just smiled at the young graduate and waved a hand casually. "That may be. However, as you are an invaluable asset to the Order, it was deemed appropriate for you to join us this evening." Even when all but demanding her presence, the cumbersome headmaster still managed to appear as if his intentions suited her.  
>At this point, the pureblooded witch had to suppress the urge to award the old coot with an eye roll worthy of her mother's rolling pin to the head. Instead, the woman merely sighed and fell in step with the walking fossil.<br>"Albus I don't deem my presence pertinent to your cause. You are well aware that my efforts lay purely behind the scenes- I do paperwork. I am hardly cut out for your little party of vigilantes." Her stiletto heels clicked across the pavement in a curt manner, betraying her annoyance.  
>At this the headmaster chuckled. He abruptly paused in step and turned to look at the young recruit head on. Fenne Voir was no figure to scoff at.<br>She was a lethe, willowy woman with a strong personality and a penchant for calling bluffs. At the age of twenty-three she had already soared through both her magical and muggle education with top marks and the title of youngest student to be awarded a doctorate of psychology in Great Britain.  
>She was beautiful in a classic appeal, inky black hair spilt down her shoulders ram-rod straight, framing a pale face with sharp cheekbones and small delicate lips. Her eyes were hazel and unclouded with cosmetics, unlike the other women of her generation.<br>To Dumbledore, Fenne reminded him a lot of his late sister; her strong will and cultured behaviour striking a chord of familiarity within him that he hadn't encountered in years. She was spirited and not afraid to get her hands dirty to meet her goals, although she would never admit such, true to her heritage.  
>"My dear, the implication that you are incapable of field work for our cause is inaccurate as I am sure you are aware. You underestimate your abilities. I seek to rectify that." He offered the young woman his arm as they had reached the apparition point and promptly apparated them to the sidewalk across from Grimmauld Place.<br>She took a moment to allow the blood to return to her head after the magical transportation and raised a hand to her temple. "Of course I am capable of field work. That is simply not why you specifically requested I join the Order."  
>Dumbledore held up a finger in placation as his eyes swept the barren road for signs of human activity. "We must be careful with our words here. There are ears everywhere."<br>Fenne simply nodded once in understanding, hot on the headmaster's heels as they approached number 12's front door and slipped inside with naught but a dull thud of the door meeting the frame to announce their entry.  
>It was midnight in Grimmauld place and the younger inhabitants were fast asleep by now, dreaming of whatever occupied a teenager's mind.<br>'Fickle things, teenagers' Fenne internally stated, taking a moment to apply a silencing charm on her stilettos so as to not wake the sleeping teenagers with her favoured choice of footware.  
>She ghosted into the dining room where the rest of the Order of the Phoenix sat and slid into a chair furthest from most occupants, in a secluded corner. Of course, Dumbledore chose that moment to draw every eye to her. "As many of you are aware, I have been consulting with a criminal behaviour expert in regards to Voldemort's followers and their weaknesses. Allow me to introduce Miss Fenne Voir, a rarity amongst wizarding purebloods."<br>It was unnerving how quickly their gazes shifted to her in simultaneity, she had to resist the urge to retreat further into her corner.  
>It was Professor Snape who chose to speak first. "How is a therapist relevant to the Order?"<br>Fenne could not resist the monstrous eye roll she had stored for a moment as precious as then. "I am a criminal profiler Mr. Snape, you should know: I wrote your very own file at the beginning of my career." Her snarky reply brought a smile to a bedraggled man across from her, His long hair swinging as he held back a chuckle.  
>"It looks like Snivellus has met his match." He grinned at her, his eyes belying the mirrh he felt for her sass.<br>Snape's nostrils flared but he remained silent, as if deciding she simply wasn't worth his effort. Fenne arched an eyebrow at the childish man who sat appraising her and allowed herself a small, patronizing smile.  
>"Evidently Mr. Snape has not deemed your childish antics worthy of his sharp tongue if it simply takes a frank remark to earn your respect." Fenne had no time for children, especially those of the adult variety.<br>The smile was wiped from Sirius' face at her comment, clearly disappointed in her. The psychologist internally shrugged, less need for her to play nice then.  
>"If you will please excuse me, I would like to steep myself a cup of tea." Fenne stood from her chair and swept from the dining room, waving away Mrs. Weasley when the matron made to fetch her tea from the kitchen. "I assure you ma'am, I am more than capable." Any excuse to escape the dining room.<p>

Fenne's black robes lined with midnight blue swept behind her as she stalked into the kitchen as if it were a runway and she a model.  
>At first glance, the kitchen appeared to be the lightest, most comforting part of the house; unusual considering the favoured theme throughout the Black ancestral home.<br>Without Voir's intimate knowledge of the dark families her eyes would have slid past the faint outlines of curiously coloured stains spotted on a cuttingboard, or the miniscule runes that marked the edges of cupboards, but she simply knew better. This kitchen had seen very dark magic, and no amount of light, healing magic and renovation could completely scrub such history from its surfaces.  
>Her own kitchen growing up had looked most the same- that is, without Mrs. Weasley's vain attempt to spruce up the forbidding workspace.<br>Many years had passed since rituals were performed in wizarding kitchens, over time magic-folk favoured potions labs, mainly due to the invention of the charm 'Aguamenti' which allowed wizards to conjure water rather than having to be near a working sink.  
>Only the oldest families had kitchen cupboards sealed with runes for keeping forbidden ingredients out of prying hands' way and for proper storage. It was an old talent to carve them as the runes were a lost knowledge dating back to Merlin's time.<br>For a moment Fenne lost herself to the knowledge that she had crammed in her head through her childhood, before firmly shutting that door of memories and locking it away. There was a reason why she had left that life, it would not do to return.  
>The witch raised her wand and pointed to the kettle, levitating it wordlessly to the stove and flicking on the heat. She rummaged through the cupboards until she came upon a measely tea-stash and picked a sleeve of earl grey. As she waited for the kettle, Fenne sat at the once-opulent ebony table and collected her thoughts.<br>As she sat with her head in her hands boredly, a lone figure creeped sleepily into the kitchen, making a beeline for the tea cabinet.  
>It was not until the figure sat down at the table with his tea bag in hand that she recognized his presence, only flicking her hand minutely as if shooing away a fly. The boy ignored her audacity, instead appraising her from where she sat.<br>It was a few moments later that she finally looked up from her hands and swiped a hand lazily through her hair.  
>"I take it you're not supposed to be awake." Her voice was plain, with an even drawl.<br>Harry awarded her with a scowl, clenching his hands under the table in frustration.  
>"You are angry." Her voice very matter-of-fact.<br>"No, that's not true." He countered.  
>Fenne rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Yes, you are angry. Judging from your denial and how we are not aquainted it's safe that I am not the cause." She rested one hand under her chin and stared lazily beneath her eyelashes, unperturbed by his abrupt attitude.<br>"If I'm angry, than why? Tell me if you're so sure about me." He challenged, bravely boring his eyes into her.  
>The pureblood flitted her gaze across his body and allowed a small smile to girl the corners of her lips, "Confrontational, perceptive, malnourished and quietly adult. Judging from how you unconsciously perch on the edge of your chair as if you are prepared to flee at a moment's notice; I would say you are commonly mistreated. You stare out the kitchen door as if you are attempting to burn a hole in the wall in order to see the Order's meeting, otherwise you must have an odd fetish involving the hallway's troll foot umbrella stand." She smirked before continuing.<br>"I think it's safe to say that you are angry about being kept out of the loop of the precious Order meetings."  
>His eyes flitted to hers, a little baffled. "You don't even know my name-"<br>She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stood to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the hot water into their waiting mugs. "I do bot have to in order to see what makes you tick. I'm a criminal profiler, I make a living out of being observant."  
>There was silence in the kitchen as the witch crossed the grimy kitchen tile and set both mugs on the beaten table, bringing a carton of milk and the sugar bowl with her. "Cream and sugar?"<br>Harry just shook his head and accepted his mug from her firm hands, quietly wafching as she dropped a sugar cube and a teapoon of milk into her tea.  
>They sat in silence before he spoke again, "If you're a member of the Order, since you are after here is headquarters, how come we've never met?"<br>Fenne grinned in a polite fashion and took a moment to swallow her mouthful of tea. "I don't march to Dumbledore's fife. I'm a consultant, if you will. That, and I don't typically play well with others."  
>The teenager laughed a little at the last part and grinned over his cup of tea. "I'm Harry."<p>

"Call me Fenne."


	2. Chapter 2

The class's attention was focused intently on the beautiful women who stood in front of the auditorium's blackboard, her hands primly writing latin phrases with chalk as she spoke quickly, her words concise and to the point.

"The word 'psychopathy' stems from various origins. First and foremost, it is derived from the greek noun 'psukhḗ' meaning soul, and 'páthos'; suffering.

Another interpretation of the term's entymology is the separation of psyche, referring to mind, and pathy- literally meaning disease of the mind."

The students quickly took notes on her lecture, keeping up with her fast pace as she moved on from the term's entymology and zeroed in on the actual disorder. A cough was heard coming from the left side auditorium, abruptly followed by a question.

"Wait, go back to what you were saying earlier. Are you suggesting that an individual's state of mind is directly reflected upon their soul's composition?" A man with dark, disheveled hair and a pair of square-framed glasses spoke up from his seat. The girl next to him looked over in surprise- very few people had the courage to interrupt Professor Voir's train of thought when she was in mid-lecture.

However, Fenne Voir just looked over at her inquisitor with a thoughtful look to accompany her usually stiff countenance. "In theory, perhaps. The existence of such an entity has not been scientifically proven, as it exists from a spiritual standpoint rather than based purely off of fact. But in theoretical terms, yes. A person is composed of only their personal experiences and upbringing.. Someone who has been treated poorly or damaged would be affected negatively in terms of their psyche. However, psychopathy is not a disorder acquired from a later age- it stems during early developmental stages."

The student grinned slightly, "But it is possible?"

She eyed him warily, wondering what was passing through the man's mind before conceding his point. "If one was to ignore the science pointing in the opposite direction... perhaps."

A bell rang and she wiped off the blackboard's contents as her class filed out of the auditorium, waiting until all but her curious inquisitor had vacated the room. She heaved a laboured sigh and spun around to look at Harry, who now stood at her side. She was met with his sheepish grin and rolled her eyes at his audacity.

"Is there a specific reason you chose to crash my psychological research class or were you just looking for something to occupy your Friday afternoon?"

Yes, he was receiving her infamous raised eyebrow. He even kept track of how many times that expression had been used on him. The count was somewhere in the triple digits now.

His grin tripled, "Well, you know I was always fascinated with your subject."

"Really? I seem to remember you dozing off into a plate of treacle tart the last time I lectured you on sociopathy's history within figures of power."

He held a laugh in and shook his head guiltily "I don't know what you're talking about."

She gave a short laugh, shaking her head this time. "Bullshit. Now, what do you need. As much as I enjoy your company, we would've just met up for coffee if you wanted to talk knitting."

"I'm touched you remember my secret hobby."

"Your humour grates on me."

He snorted and sighed, plopping down on the front of her desk, gathering his thoughts before he told her what he came for. "I'm sure you recall the research that my department has been putting together."

She sat elegantly down in her office chair, appraising her fingernails boredly. "Hardly. Seeing as you work in the 'Department of Mysterious Wankers', my knowledge of your activities stops at wanking."

He let out a large laugh at that. "I don't think I've ever heard you say something that crude before."

"Do you see what you have reduced me to?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We've come across a problem in chronical magic."

"And?"

His eyes were slightly bewildered at her response. "What do you mean 'and'? Problems in this field are huge!"

"Seeing as this does not involve me, I find myself disinterested."

"I was getting to that."

"Well, move it along. I've got a date with Doctor Who."

"What's a Doctor Who?"

"Let's just acknowledge that your years within the magical world have rotted your last few braincells and you are inept in terms of pop culture and get to your point. As much as I enjoy our blustering conversations- no I don't."

He mumbled to himself, "Grumpy, I see."

"Please speak up kind sir."

"Nevermind."

The mood sobered as Harry dragged out a long sigh and swiped a hand tiredly through his shock of dark hair. "It appears we've located a niche."

His words warranted a blank expression from Fenne in response; "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He rolled his eyes in trepidation, "Can you at least pretend to be intrigued? I know it's difficult, and chronical magic isn't a crazy-as-a-bag-full-of-cats wizard or anything but give me a little credit."

The raised eyebrow in response was so typical of the stiff witch that it almost seemed comical.

"A niche refers to a point in time when outside interference in the timeline triggered events that occurred in the future. Some niches only trigger minor things like stomping on a butterfly, while others are more impactful."

Fenne nodded primly from her place beside him, signifying him to continue.

He shot her a mock glare and acquiesced. "If you had been paying attention to my conversations about my work you would know that my job is to identify each niche we can locate in our timeline, find the correct person who is to join that niche and travel with them to the niche until their part has been played in that section of the timeline."

Fenne rolled her eyes, "As much as I pretend otherwise, I do understand what you do. I just don't agree with it because it was know-it-all wizards who were the source of these problems in the first place. If you hadn't been meddling with time turners in the first place then this wouldn't be an issue."

"It's not as simple as that. Voldemort enthusiasts have managed to get their hands on our high-powered time turners and have been messing with his school days. That's why I've been put on the case and not one of our rookies."

She scowled venemously, "So you imbeciles created this problem, have you? You and I both know that your Department of Mysterious Wankers shouldn't have been wanking around with this kind of magic. Let's not forget that I come from a dark family. I know first hand how these things end." Her expression grew darker with the words she spoke. To mess with the timeline meant meddling with the fabric of a tapestry so delicate that one risks snapping a thread when ghosting over and creating a paradox that would eliminate the world as it were.

His grimace was more apologetic than resentful. "I've been tasked with locating the individual required to fill the niche and assist them with the process." At this, he shifted awkwardly on foot and cast his gaze from her to the now spotless black board that was once graced with words disecting human thought.

"And you discovered that I am said person." There was neither a hint of surprise nor emotion in her tone once the words escaped her lips. Fenne had always been unshakeable, and this unusual circumstance was no exception.

He painstakingly met her gaze and gave a minute nod in affirmance.

"I thought as much. My answer is no."

The phrase was spoken as if she had simply waved off a waitress, rather than a rescue mission.

Harry looked as if he had been struck, "No? And risk the timeline?"

"All you have given me is a vague description of the mission and have yet to produce a reason of which benefits me to fulfill this venture."

His voice dripped in sarcasm at his rebuke "You'd think the opportunity to save your own arse would be beneficial enough." He knew this approach wouldn't prompt a reaction from her, but the words burst forth nevertheless.

"One would think a psychologist would jump at the chance to assess one of the world's most influencial psychopaths."

At this there was a lengthy pause in which Fenne gathered herself and silkily responded. "I hadn't realized that Tom Riddle was in this equation."

The ruffled wizard scoffed. "Didn't you? I did mention it."

"No, you simply alluded to the niche occuring during his time. You never actually informed me that I would be _working with him._"

Harry rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair once again in agitation. "What difference does it make?"

She ghosted past him to gather her suitcase before flicking open the clasps and placing her belongings in hastily, her grace almost faltering in her somewhat professional excitement.

"It changes _everything_."


End file.
